The sound of Alex approaching the door had my stomach doing happy spins. Whatever reason had brought me here, I was going to be in his arms in seconds, and I could hardly wait.
He answered the door with a smile. “Come in.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” I stepped across the threshold and wrapped my arms around his middle, holding on. This was by far my favorite place to be.
He didn’t hesitate to wrap me up, his body molding around mine. “Thanks for coming,” he said into my hair. “Hmm, you smell like coconuts.”
I giggled. “It’s the hair products.” Tipping my head back, I caught his gaze just before he kissed me.
“You taste good too,” he mumbled into our kiss.
“Ditto,” I breathed, hardly able to hold myself together. This man could undo me with those lips!
“Come on.” He stepped back, taking my free hand and softly kicking the door shut. “What’s that?” He nodded toward the bag.
“Breakfast,” I replied. “I figured you hadn’t eaten.”
“You already know me so well,” Alex said, offering a weak smile. He led me through the entryway, down a bare hall, and into the living room. Like the rest of the building, the walls in here were a light gray with white trim. His couch and love seat were dark blue, and there was a large-screen television mounted over the fireplace. He had a side table and a coffee table, but there weren’t any knickknacks or decorations. The whole place felt like he’d just moved in.
We sat down on the sofa. I went to set the bag on the coffee table, but the box was there, so I pulled it back and set it in my lap. Somehow, the box felt sacred, and putting the golden arches next to it didn’t sit right.
I tried not to stare at the well-worn and soft-edged box, but it was difficult not to. It was strange and sort of sad that all that was left of Alex’s mother’s life was contained in there. Maybe his grandma had kept some things for herself.
I handed Alex a wrapped sandwich, and we made small talk as we unwrapped our breakfast and ate.
“I dig this grease out of people’s arteries for a living, but right now, it tastes good,” Alex admitted.
I shook my head at him. “You’re allowed to be human sometimes.”
“I think that’s my problem—I’m feeling all too human right now.”
“How so?”
“When I’m operating, it’s like I can do no wrong. I mean, I know I can mess up—”
“Thankfully, you don’t.” I shoulder-bumped him. He had the best track record in the hospital. Some said it was because he was a perfectionist, and wouldn’t you want a perfectionist heart surgeon? But I thought it was more that he was careful. He had the ability to wholly focus on what was right before him, be it a patient, a breakfast sandwich, or me.
“Thankfully,” he conceded with a half-smile. “But right now, I feel like anything could break me.”
“You’re stronger than you think.” I patted his knee. “You face hard things every day. You can do this.”
His hand covered mine. “I don’t know if I will ever be really ready, but with you here, I feel like I have the strength to try.”
I crumpled up the wrappers, taking away from the reverent feeling in the room, but I was grateful for the change in the atmosphere. It was getting too deep for both of us to keep our heads above water, and doing something normal, like cleaning up, was a good thing.
He took the garbage to the kitchen and then came back, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s do this.” Once he’d made up his mind to get started, he didn’t give himself a chance to back out. He gently peeled off the tape and opened the flaps. We made eye contact before peering over the lip. Inside, there were several individually wrapped objects.
Alex reached in and pulled out a square one. It was flat, and I guessed it was a canvas of some type. He’d said his mother was an amateur artist.
He pulled back the paper, and a small painting of two birds appeared. One bird was blue, and one was red. They sat on a cherry tree branch, the blossoms pink and bursting all around them. It was beautiful and simple and touched by the spirit of a woman who had seen this very moment and wanted to freeze it in time.
“My mom used to have this hanging in her room.” Alex gently touched the red bird—like he was afraid it would startle and fly off the canvas if he moved too fast. “That’s crazy. I’d forgotten all about it, but now I can tell you right where it hung.”
I leaned into his shoulder, wrapping my arm loosely around his. “She was talented.”
“She was,” he said quietly. “Too bad I didn’t inherit any of her skill.”
“I don’t know. I think putting a brush to canvas, holding it steady, and bringing about the desired effect takes the same skill set as holding a scalpel.”
